Now and then and in the future

The neat green furrows racing toward the levee off in the distance is an iconic image in the gallery of my memory.

It took a year for me to visit the scene of the accident.

I was quite sure about what I did not want to see.

I did not want to see evidence of the crash; broken glass or the tracks left by the car as it soared across the median, zooming through on-coming traffic and on and on until it and my daughter, forty feet away, finally both came to rest on the other side of the highway.

In that long year of waiting, the grass had died, frost had kissed the earth, rain had washed it, and the grass had grown green once more.

I was not prepared for the lush beauty of the delta farmland that was her last sight of this earth.

We all do what we must, and take comfort where we can.

There are no road signs on the journey of grief, and no mile markers, and I am not sure but what it is an endless road. And yet, like that verdant field of rich delta farmland, there is solace to be had in the company and the kindness of friends.

Today I happened to see a couple at the post office who had just been to a funeral. As we stood together by our respective cars there was an understanding that all of us shared, for the three of us had already traveled the new and strange road the new widow would travel.

It’s no wonder that when you lose someone you love, you lose a part of yourself.

But I think when it comes to adapting to the loss, we are like starfish, so although we will never recover the loss of our loved one, it is at least possible to recover and regenerate our lost self. Granted we/it won’t look the same, but still, something new and vital can be added to ones life that makes living a joy and an adventure.

That is one reason the Wu Food Project is so important to me. I want to be healthy and fit and to be able to enjoy life. I know what a treasure each day is, and I want to revel in the beauty of each day.

Some days can be lousy, for sure. But even lousy days have their moments– the main thing is to be mindful of them, and to take note of the beauty in each day.

How many times have I heard Adrienne say to me, “Don’t worry, Mommy. It’s all good.”

Now granted, these sunny words were universally applied like Cortaid on a rash, whether I was either vexed over some small thing, or horrified by something cataclysmic.

“Don’t worry, Mommy” are words that I can still almost hear in my mind’s ear, as if they are stirring gentle waves in the air beside me.